


It Starts with a Milkshake, Birds and Snakes, an Amtrak Train and Lance Bass is Not Afraid

by SnarkyLlama



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Character, Gods, M/M, Make the Yuletide Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyLlama/pseuds/SnarkyLlama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lance is shipped off for a year in North Dakota, he's dreading the end of the world as he knows it (and probably death by boredom).  He's anything but bored when a couple of gods decide that he needs a big, gay, sequin-studded romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts with a Milkshake, Birds and Snakes, an Amtrak Train and Lance Bass is Not Afraid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zebraljb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/gifts).



> Originally posted for Make the Yuletide Gay 2011. Written for Zebraljb.
> 
> All of the NSYNC boys are in this AU, but they don't all answer to the names we know them by.

_Before:_

Lance didn't know anything about the Dakotas before he got there. Okay, well, maybe he'd had some vague idea they would be chockfull of mountains and cowboys in tight Wrangler jeans. There was some small potential for Adventure and Romance in that, wasn't there?

(Not a romance--cowboys weren't the hearts-and-flowers type and neither was Lance, or at least that's what he told himself--but something in the grand Romantic tradition. Tall ships on the open sea; Lawrence in Arabia; wild horses and purple mountain majesties; the Starship _Enterprise_ boldly going where no one had gone before: that was Romance.)

He held on to that tiny sliver of hope until he'd spent two hours staring out a train window at the flattest, beigest landscape that he'd ever had the misfortune to see. And Amtrak called this route the "Empire Builder"? Their marketing people should have won an award for that, for making something like this sound so exciting and full of possibilities.

Lance should have checked a topographical map as soon as his parents told him of the plans they'd made for him. He shouldn't have allowed himself any hope.

"It's not a punishment," they'd said. "It's an opportunity. You used to have such a strong sense of direction. Use this time to find that again, to clear your mind and figure out where you're going."

Yeah, right. He knew exactly where he was heading. This was the end of the line, the end of his story. Twenty years old and he was one of those "dead men walking." Condemned to a year in the most boring place ever... unless... maybe, if he was really lucky, he would die of beige poisoning before the train pulled into Williston. That would be a while yet. The city was wedged way up in the northwest corner of North Dakota like it could have been part of Canada instead. Then there would've at least been Mounties...

Lance heaved a deep sigh and resigned himself to his fate.

And then Fate laughed.

Now before you get the wrong idea: Fate's a great guy. He's not cold and heartless, and he'd rather stick a fork in his eye than laugh at someone's misfortune. (And yeah, Fate's a guy. He hasn't always been one, but being a hag gets really old after a millennium or two. It was time for a change.)

So Fate had a jolly good laugh before sending a courier rooster off with a message for Cupid. (It may sound like a tedious form of communication, but when you can do it with the power of a single thought, it's easier than instant messaging.)

_Hey, Cupe. Nobody expects a big, gay, sequin-studded romance out of North Dakota. Wanna help me do something about that?_

A moment later, something nipped at Fate's ankle, and he absolutely did not squeal like a scared little girl before coming to his senses. He bent to retrieve Cupid's reply from the grumpy little courier gnawing at his ankle and carefully scratched behind its ears while he contemplated the message: _Fuckin' cocks._

Was that some sort of general observation about gay sex? Or was it another complaint about his roosters? Before he could decide, there was a sparkling swirl of light and Cupid manifested next to his courier pug.

"You better figure out how to put a cork in those things or I'm going to host the biggest, baddest all-you-can-eat fried chicken extravaganza that Olympus has ever seen."

"Hey! Leave them alone! I like my cocks, they're portentous and stuff. "

"And stuff," Cupid echoed, and then he said it again with finger quotes. "'And stuff.' That's a nice way to say 'and they fuck shit up for my good buddy, Cupid. Wow, I'm going to miss him when half of Olympus decides to toast his ass, maybe next time I'll think twice before sending a damn bird to throw off his aim with a fucking cock-a-doodle--' Hmm." Cupid stopped suddenly and cocked his head in thought. "Hmm. What's the best line here? 'Cock-a-doodle- _doom_ '? Or 'Cock-a-doodle- _don't_ '?"

"Cupe, what did you...?"

Filled with dread, Fate closed his eyes and reached out his senses, searching the world's warp and weft for the sort of colossal disturbance that would get Cupid fried by lightning (or worse). Nothing tugged at him. There were no alarms warning of threads about to be pulled irreparably out of pattern.

He opened one eye to peer at Cupid. "You fucking with me?"

"Eh." Cupid shrugged. "It was nothing major. So a busload of Little Leaguers all got hit with an Oedipal Complex? Ah well, too bad. As the French say, 'Shit happens.' I'd be toast, except it's pretty dilute. One dose spread amongst so many... You were lucky this time, but stop tempting fa--Oh. Fuck it. You know what I mean. Don't make me go all Kentucky-fried on you and all of your little peckers."

"I'm sorry," Fate said. "I didn't realize... I'd hate it if you were punished because of something I..."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I don't expect a big lug like you to understand the fine and delicate art that is archery."

Fate swallowed around the lump of guilt in his throat, then gave Cupid's shoulder a friendly punch. "Yeah. What would a lumbering ox like me know about the delicate art you usually refer to as 'Ooh, ooh, lemme shoot 'em in the ass'?"

"Exactly. So..." Cupid grinned and clapped his hands together. "You've got a victim for me? You said 'big, gay, sequins'? That's a trifecta. Haven't had a chance at one of those in a while. I've got just the thing, a triple whammy, see?" Cupid spun around, pulling a large sparkling arrow from the ether as he turned, and displayed it proudly.

"Wow," Fate said. "That's big... and shiny."

"You betcha. This is the real deal. The head is one of my finest lust spells. Anything less wouldn't be fabulous enough, right? The fletching--" Cupid flicked at the feathered end of the arrow. "--is parrot. Because nothing says 'sodomy' like pirates, and pirates and parrots are like sharks and remora eels, like... hippos and those little birds that like to stand on hippos... or is it rhinoceroses? Rhinoceri?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Great! So lust and parrots and..." Cupid twirled the arrow like a baton. "I dipped the shaft in glitter, just for you. Our guy won't know what hit him."

"Wow," Fate said again. "That's uh... that's one heck of an arrow."

"It's a masterpiece!"

"It is. But it's also overkill."

"What? Never! I don't kill my victims."

"We're not actually _victimizers_ , Cupe."

"Yeah, right. So says the guy who's never been kicked in the ass by love."

Fate bit his lip and kept his thoughts to himself. If he brought up the whole, nasty Psyche affair, Cupid would head for the hills. That nice Lance boy's chance would be long gone before Cupe came out of hiding again. Hades, that nice Lance boy might be old and gray before then, if not dead and buried. This wasn't the time for that discussion.

Fate draped an arm over Cupid's shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "Look over there. That's our guy."

"Huh? Who?"

"Isn't it obvious? Nice boy, green eyes, on that train."

"Are you sure he's gay?"

"Of course he is."

"With that haircut? And that shirt? Are you blind?"

"He's from Mississippi."

"Oh... Yeah, that would do it, but... Hmm. I might have to add some more glitter to Big Bertha here to compensate."

"What? You have to compensate for Mississippi, but not for North Dakota?"

"That's what the first three coats of glitter were for. I told you, it's an art and I'm an artiste."

"You mean glitter actually serves a purpose? That's--No, never mind. Forget that I asked. You are not going to hit him with Big Bertha, the Triple Whammy Lust Attack Arrow, okay? I like this guy. He's a good guy. A bit aimless, a bit of a dork, but he's good where it counts."

"In the sack?"

"What?"

"If he's good in the sack, Big Bertha's perfect for him."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, you cynical little--"

"Hey, hey, don't blame me. I'm a love god, remember? Between the sheets is where it counts."

Fate rolled his eyes. Those people who said love was blind? They had no idea how true it was, at least as far as Cupe went. Luckily, Cupid was too busy checking their guy out to notice Fate's gesture (but then, somehow, Fate's luck always seemed to work out that way).

"Look carefully," Fate said. "See that tiny little defect in his heart? That's why I don't want you to hit him with a triple whammy, train-wreck arrow. Okay?"

"Hmm... yeah, there is that... but I don't think it will kill him."

"Yeah, I don't see a fatal heart attack in his future, but I'd like to keep it that way."

"Then you shouldn't have asked for big gay sequins! I'm an artist, not a miracle worker."

Fate coughed something that sounded suspiciously like _love god_.

"Okay, okay. I am a miracle worker, but what do you want me to do? There's only so many ways to do big gay sequins."

"Just let him ease into it, okay?"

"Ease into it. Hmm."

Cupid scratched his chin with the big lust arrowhead as he pondered the idea. That couldn't be sanitary or in any way compliant with the material safety data sheets, if lust arrows came with such things, but Fate thought it was best to keep quiet. It wouldn't do to startle him again.

"Okay," Cupid said after a good while. "If they're flaming, there's no reason they can't be slow-burning flames, right? I can do it. Gimme Bertha."

"You already have Bertha."

"Oh, yeah. Great. Now we just need the slow-burning ember of something appropriately symbolic. I'm thinking... maybe continue the pirate theme? We could have an ember from the charred remains of a peg leg..."

"No," Fate said.

"It would totally work."

"North Dakota is just about as landlocked as one can possibly get. It's not exactly a big pirate hangout."

"But pegging's a gay thing. The symbolism works on multiple levels. It's magical."

"Maybe, but I think that's only for gay _chicks_. I think the magic needs some local flavor."

Cupid snapped his fingers. "Buffalo dung! Yes! I'm brilliant!"

"What?"

"Nothing says 'Dakota romance' like cuddling together before a brightly burning pile of buffalo chips."

"No."

"Hmm. I know, let's consult an expert. Who here has been the muse for hundreds of First Nations-themed historical romance novels? Oh, wait. That's me! Come on, Bertha, let's make some magic!"

Before Fate could offer further objections, Cupid tossed the arrow up into the air like a majorette's baton. While the arrow was airborne, he snapped his fingers and produced a small, glowing nugget that Fate assumed was the chip of bison-based biofuel (though he was secretly relieved that Cupid didn't allow him time to examine it closely enough to tell for certain). Then he caught Bertha in the same hand that was holding the ember, and the big, sparkly arrow disappeared.

"Huh," Cupid said. He held a small, blue arrow that seemed to glow from an inner fire. "That's really interesting..."

"What is that? Is that glass? Like Cinderella's slipper?"

"No." Cupid shook his head. "Don't be silly. _Cinderella_ 's just a story." He held the arrow carefully between two fingers and raised it up to eye level, peering at it intently. "I wasn't expecting this..."

"You weren't? I don't want you shooting Lance with a mistake!"

"Oh, your boy's safe. An arrow like this? This has to be for his intended."

"But I haven't seen him yet. I only know Lance's end of the thread. We'd better get looking!"

"We don't have to." Cupid pulled his bow from the ether and notched the glowing arrow into place. "I haven't done this in ages. Man... You oughta love this. It's right up your alley." He drew the string back and shot the arrow into the high arc of the sky.

Fate followed its flight, until the sun caught in his eyes and he lost the arrow in the glare. He turned to Cupid. "What did you--?"

"' _I shot an arrow into the air_ ,'" Cupid said. "Longfellow. You should Google it. I've got to go. Got some Little League moms to check in on."

Fate hid his smile until Cupid disappeared, and then he happily glowed all the way back to Lance's train car and smiled at the obviously glum young man.

"Hey, don't give up. Your boy is going to be something special. Cupe will never admit it, but I think that was a True Love arrow. That would explain why he didn't have to shoot it at anyone's ass, right? It was already meant to be. Not that there's anything wrong with getting poked in the ass... since that's your thing. Yeah. Um... You know, it never gets less awkward talking to people who can't see or hear me, so I'll see you later, okay? Enjoy the Romance... and the sequins! 'Cause the sequins were my totally my idea!"

He shuffled his feet for a moment, because he really felt like giving Lance a hug or something (if you look into someone's heart long enough, they start feeling like one of your best buds) but it was pretty rude to hug a mortal when they didn't know you were there. Ah, to Tartarus with it. He wasn't one to stand on ceremony. One quick hug, and then Fate stepped sideways and was gone.

*~*~*

_It starts:_

Lance didn't succumb to beige-poisoning (or any other boredom-induced ailment) before the conductor announced that they were ten minutes out from Williston. He was, surprisingly, relieved by this. Sure, he wasn't looking forward to his northern exile, but he wasn't ready to die yet, either.

He pressed his hand to his chest and breathed slowly and deeply. _Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Ah, good._ He didn't feel any remnants of the strange pressure that had wrapped around his chest about an hour ago and scared him half out of his wits. For a moment, he'd been certain it was a heart attack and God, it wasn't fair. He was so backwards and put together wrong. Lack of excitement wasn't supposed to cause heart attacks.

Now he felt okay, though. He could do this. He stood and pulled his suitcase out from under his seat and tucked the book that he hadn't been reading into its front pocket. He tried to catch his reflection in the window so he could check his hair, but the light wasn't right. The window offered very little reflection, but lots of dry, empty land. Ten minutes out from the city, shouldn't there be more buildings by now? Ah, no, now there was a field filled with maybe a hundred rusty old clunkers. Ah, civilization.

A man in a cowboy hat and yes, actually, those were tight Wrangler jeans, too bad the guy was old and pot-bellied, walked down the aisle to wait in front of the door. No one else in the car was stirring. Lance did his best to neaten his hair. (He wanted to make a good first impression on his great aunt who would be meeting him at the station and would be his hostess during his exile. It wasn't her fault this was happening to him.) Then he took his suitcase and filed in behind the man at the door.

He'd worried about how he was supposed to pick someone he hadn't seen since he was six from out of a crowd at the station. But it was terribly anticlimactic. The station was roughly the size of a two-car garage and the platform was just a long concrete slab open to the elements. He stepped off the train, stopped suddenly while his legs did strange wobbly things now that they were back on solid, stationary ground again, and then a woman with short, steel-gray hair was striding towards him.

"Lance, look at you! You've grown so handsome since those last photographs your grandmother sent me!"

His ears started to burn with embarrassment and he was very, very glad that the place was next to empty.

"Of course," she said, "the teen years are awkward for us all. I looked like a stork through most of mine." Then she laughed. "Oh, who am I fooling? I still look like a stork."

She sort of did. Tall and skinny and not very, well... um... he didn't make a practice of looking at older ladies' bosoms, but she definitely wasn't as round and soft and grandmotherly-looking as his grandmother. She looked about sixty, though, which was a lot younger than he'd expected, and he'd almost believe that she wasn't his great aunt if it weren't for her pale green eyes and her obvious recognition of him.

"Aunt Henrietta?"

"Welcome to Williston, Lance, and do call me 'Etty.' Are these all of your things? Your mother said they'd be shipping a case? The car's just this way. I'm glad the train wasn't late, that means we still have time to get to the DMV today."

Oh my word. What? Lance felt like he'd just been picked up by a tornado and set down in a place that maybe looked like Kansas, but the inhabitants were all bizarre and beyond his comprehension. They'd told him that Great Aunt Henrietta needed some assistance. When someone tells you that about a lady in her seventies, you pictured frail little old ladies in flowered housecoats, their hands trembling as they grasp their walkers, you didn't picture... whatever Etty was.

He was whisked along to a huge old boat of a Buick. His suitcase was stowed in the trunk, tucked in alongside... was that a cello case? He couldn't get a word in to ask. Etty was too busy telling him that his generation didn't have a proper understanding of automobiles and how could they with the tiny things everyone was being forced to drive nowadays.

"Don't worry, there's a Taurus at home that you can drive. My grandson insisted I take it. My stepdaughter's youngest, buys himself a new car every three years. Must think his role in life is to keep the banks in business."

She pointed out landmarks (or the general direction of them) as she drove. "The courthouse is that way." "That's _Gloria Dei_ , they call it 'the Cathedral of the West' but it's the Lutheran church. They're almost all Lutherans out here." "They've put a little pizza place in the K-mart now. Don't get your hopes up, though. No one delivers." And so on.

It was only a few minutes before it seemed that they were heading out of town and back into the emptiness, and then she pulled into a large parking lot where the sign read _NDOT_. There was a small white trailer near the front of the lot. Looming behind it (well, looming as only a really large, squat building can) was some sort of warehouse/garage hybrid.

"Well, here we are," she said.

She parked in a spot in front of the trailer. They sat there for a strange, quiet moment, neither of them moving to unfasten their seat belts. Lance wondered if she'd been so busy talking that she'd forgotten what she came here for. Then, she reached over and patted his knee.

"Well, go on, dear. Go get your license."

Lance blinked.

"This is the DMV," she added, which, yes, he had figured out that much.

"I already have a driver's license, ma'am... Aunt Etty, ma'am."

"Oh, I'm sure you do. Your mother says you're a very good driver. But you have to have a North Dakota license."

"Why? I mean... I'm not planning to stay here. I'm not a North Dakota citizen. I'm just... visiting." For a year.

"That's okay. They don't force you to stay here if you get one, you know." She chuckled and patted his knee again. "But you need to have one for your job."

"My job?" And wow, his voice hadn't hit that pitch since puberty.

"It's just for the paperwork, as I understand it. It doesn't look right otherwise, giving a state job to a non-resident."

"A state job? Aunt Etty, I'm not... I'm..."

"Oh, dear. They haven't explained anything to you, have they? Just go in and get your license, dear. They're closed tomorrow--they're closed every Thursday and we're lucky here, because some towns have the DMV open only one day a month, can you imagine? After you're done, we'll see if we can't get everything straightened out."

Oh my God, Lance thought. But he did as he was told and walked out half an hour later with his new license. He looked exceedingly awful in the photo. His hair was mussed and his expression looked more shell-shocked than anything else. It was perfect though, if he thought of it as his mug shot. Dead man walking, indeed. He tucked it in his wallet behind his old license. They'd let him keep it, after they'd punched a small North-Dakota shaped hole through it to invalidate it. That photo had been taken on his eighteenth birthday. His hair had been just as mussed that day, but his smile had reached his eyes. He'd been so proud of himself...

Aunt Etty was quieter on the drive back into town. Maybe the whirlwind effect had been caused by nerves. It had to feel a little weird to be welcoming a strange man into your home for a year, even if he was a relation. And what had his parents told her? 'We're forcing Lance to go off and find himself somewhere else because we just can't keep watching him being a clueless mess right in front of our faces'?

Okay. Well, no. They wouldn't have said that, not even if that's what they were honestly feeling. Whatever they'd said, though, it would have had to leave Aunt Etty with the impression that there was something not quite right about him.

Lance sighed.

"We're almost there, dear. I'm sure it's been a long couple of days for you. We'll pick out a room for you and then you can relax, maybe take a nap while I get dinner going."

"Thank you," he said. "But I think I better hear about this job first?"

The house was a good-sized, two-story just a few houses down from an intersection which held a Catholic church, a Congregational church, an elementary school, and an empty lot full of straggly bushes. He was shown upstairs, where he was given a choice of "the blue room or the pink room, though I think you'll prefer the pink. It's much bigger."

The blue room had a single bed, a bookcase, and a large dark armoire that looked like it might come alive and eat children in the middle of the night. The pink room had a double bed, a small desk and a wide shallow closet with a non-carnivorous looking chest of drawers tucked inside it. There were several Hewlett-Packard boxes stacked on the desk.

"You have a computer?"

"You have a computer, dear. Your father sent it. One of my students kindly brought the boxes upstairs for me. But you'll have to do the rest. We'll figure out how to fit it in the blue room if you want--"

"No. This is good. Thank you. It's a really nice room."

And it was. Yes, it was very pink, but it wasn't like he was going to be entertaining overnight guests while living in his great aunt's house. Not that he'd ever entertained them living at home, either.

With that decided, Aunt Etty gave him a quick tour of the rest of the house. She took the stairs slowly, but other than that it was plainly obvious that he wasn't here to help a doddering old lady. When the tour was over, she sat him down at the kitchen table with a glass of sweet tea, while she started dinner and explained about Lance's job.

The short version (which is a good forty five minutes less than the version Lance received) was that after Lance's grandmother and parents had approached Etty several times about the possibility of hosting Lance for a stay of indeterminate length, with Etty insisting every time that there really wasn't enough for a boy his age to do out here (no surprise there, Lance thought), Marge, one of Etty's church friends had shared that she wanted to take a leave of absence from her job. But as it was a part-time job, and a state job at that, she couldn't do it. She could take as much time as she wanted, but the job wouldn't be waiting for her when she got back. So Etty got to thinking that if Lance applied for it, he would have something to do, and then he could quit when Marge was ready to come back.

It sounded like some sort of fishy job-subcontracting scheme to Lance, but Etty assured him that it was perfectly legal as long as they did it through the proper channels.

And the job itself?

"Oh, her boss, Mr. Chasez, is legally blind. She's his driver. Not all the time, just when he has to travel on state business. Marge says he's a very nice young man, and you'll get along with him just fine as long as you're firm with him about the music. You have to insist that the driver picks the music."

"I can't drive someone who's blind."

"Of course, you can. Marge, God bless her, isn't the brightest bulb on the tree and she can do it. You, on the other hand, you're a bright young thing. It'll be a piece of cake."

"He's blind and I've been in North Dakota for less than half a day! Do you know how quickly we'll be lost out there?"

"Oh," she laughed. "Is that all?" She pulled the magnetic notepad from the 'fridge door and handed it to him. "Here. Let me find you a pen, and then you can draw yourself a map so you don't get lost."

"I can draw it? I don't..."

"Fine. I'll draw it if it will make you feel better."

She turned the notepad sideways, so that it was in landscape orientation. "This is North Dakota." She drew two horizontal lines all the way across the sheet. "That's Route 2 and that's Interstate 94."

She drew three dots on the top line and two dots on the bottom line, listing them as she did so. "Williston, Minot, Grand Forks, but I doubt you need to know about Grand Forks. Bismarck and Fargo. You shouldn't need to know Fargo either."

She drew one crooked line down from Williston's dot. "That's Route 85, and that's all you need to know. If he names a place that's not on this map, ask, 'Am I heading towards Minot or Bismarck?' If he can't direct you there himself, then I'm sure he'll have directions for you. It'll be easy.

"Marge loves the job, says it's the easiest money she's ever made. Not a lot of money, mind you, but the easiest. She takes him somewhere, then sits in the car and reads a book until it's time to bring him back again. And she's paid for all of it. Even the book reading."

It didn't sound that bad. It didn't sound great, but it would probably be better than hiding in the pink room all day.

"But what about winter? It'll be here in no time! I can't drive in snow. I don't even know how to dress myself in snow."

She laughed. "Ah, well, the trick with snow is: dress yourself before you go out in it, dear."

And that was that. They had filled out the application for him. He had an interview with Mr. Chasez ("I think his name is JC.") the next day at four o'clock. She didn't know what Mr. Chasez did for the state. She didn't know exactly what "legally blind" meant. His office was in the courthouse, which was also the police station. "Marge says to park in the lot on the police side and go up the first flight of stairs. It's the Advocacy and Protection office, and it's just past the water fountain. Just ask someone if you can't find it."

And that was Aunt Etty's last word... on that topic. It was far, far from her last word. Over dinner, Lance decided that while she seemed quite spry, Etty was probably more than a bit lonely. Even with church friends and piano students visiting, the house had to feel quite empty in the evenings. He wasn't sure when her step-children had moved out, but her husband (who had been more than twice her age when they'd married) had died thirty years ago. Unless she had gentlemen friends... uh... No. He wasn't going to think about that.

He insisted on doing the washing up after dinner. She went into the other room and began playing the piano. Standing with his hands in the dishwater while he listened to hymn stanzas flow into bits of classical music, he thought that at least his exile had a nice soundtrack. It wasn't all bad.

~*~

Lance was nervous about the interview. It wasn't like he desperately wanted the job, but there was the small matter of having nothing else to do with his time. Not to mention Etty having opened up her home to him because of the job.

Aunt Etty told him to relax. The job was his as long as he was his charming self and didn't try to come across like one of those serial killers. He rather hoped, for Mr. Chasez's safety, that he was a little more selective than that.

He didn't know what to expect. That added to his nerves. He didn't know what Advocacy and Protection meant, beyond the dictionary definitions of the words. He'd set up the computer this morning, thinking he could try to look it up on the internet, but it turned out that the pink room didn't have a phone line for the modem. They could fix that, but not in time for prepare for his interview.

He didn't know what to expect from Mr. Chasez. How blind was he? Would he need more help than Lance could provide? Lance didn't know anything about blind people. And how old was he? Aunt Etty had said he was "a nice young man," but from her point of view that could apply to someone who was fifty. If Mr. Chasez was his dad's age, what would they say to each other when they were stuck in the car together?

And then there was the Taurus. It was nice that he had a car to drive, but... Tauruses were really... Well, they were "mom" cars, weren't they? And this one was baby blue. Between the pink room and the baby blue mom car, Lance felt that his masculinity was seriously under fire. He wasn't all that butch on a good day, and now when he needed confidence, when he about to walk into a police station... This really wasn't his shining hour.

The courthouse/police station was easy to find. The city was set up in a grid with every street, except for Main and Broadway (no points for creativity there), numbered. He just had to remember than First Avenue West was a completely different street than First Avenue East. And First Street was yet another street all together. It would have been even easier to walk to the courthouse, but he supposed that wouldn't engender confidence in his driving abilities.

So he found the building and the water fountain. The Advocacy and Protection office's glass-paned door was standing ajar. He was five minutes early, but he rapped on the door and stepped inside.

The outer office looked like its primary purpose was to store the rest of the building's unwanted office supplies. It was stuffed tight, though tidily so, with nothing spilling out into the obvious spaces for walking. There were two plastic chairs in the far corner next to a long counter which looked like it could have been taken straight from the DMV yesterday. Beyond the counter was a second, wooden door, which was closed.

"Hello?" he called out.

"Oh," a male voice said from behind the door. Then another voice, an electronic one, said, "Three. Fifty. Eight. PM." "Oh," the first voice said again.

And the door opened, and a gorgeous man stepped out and said, "You must be James." He held out his hand and Lance took it, though he didn't have a reply yet because his brain was still stuck on the _gorgeous_.

This had to be Mr. Chasez's sexy personal assistant or something, because there was no way fate had just offered up a job with this man as his boss. He was young, in his twenties, and tall and slim and breathtaking with blue eyes and dark hair that curled just a bit at the ends and made Lance think about touching it.

 _This could be very, very bad,_ Lance's brain said.

 _This could be very, very good!_ Lance's body said.

"James?" the gorgeous man said.

"Um. Yes. I mean no. Well. I am James, but that's not my... Oh my God. I'm sorry. Can we start that again from the top?"

The man smiled. It was bright and genuine and--

 _Very, very bad_ , Lance's brain piped in once again.

"Wow. You're not from around here, that's for certain. But you have a great voice--a great accent, Mr. Maybe-James Maybe-Not-James."

Lance's ears were burning big time, but he did his best to stay unflustered (or at least not fluster any further).

"Thank you. Mr. Chasez?"

"That's me, JC Chasez. And you are?"

"Lance Bass. Only my driver's license calls me James."

"Ah, I know how that goes. My ID does the same thing, calling me something I don't answer to." Mr. Chasez's smile broadened. "I have a good feeling about this, don't you? We already have something in common."

"Yes," Lance said, because at that moment he couldn't possibly disagree with the man, not when he had a smile like that and a good strong grasp that wasn't like macho-posturing strong, but... Oh, Lord. He was still holding the guy's hand! He wasn't going to come across as just any old serial killer, oh no. He was going for the full out psychotic stalker effect.

He dropped Mr. Chasez's hand, but before he could decide whether he should apologize for the prolonged contact or simply pretend that it hadn't happened, Mr. Chasez--no, _JC_ \-- JC touched his arm. It was nothing--JC probably hadn't realized that his arm was there--but it was also some sort of magic because suddenly, Lance wasn't a nervous wreck anymore. A little mutual awkwardness, even if it was simply not knowing where to put one's hands, was an amazing thing.

"Yes," he said. "I guess we do have something in common."

"Maybe many somethings," JC said. "That's what is great about meeting new people. It's like 'Welcome to the Voyage of Discovery!'" JC threw his arms wide in an exuberant gesture which knocked the back of his right hand hard against the door frame. "Ow." He cradled his hand against his chest for a second and then looked up towards Lance again. "Or maybe it's more like 'Hi, welcome to my office. It's small, it's drab, but at least it keeps a roof over my answering machine's head.'"

"Ah, well that does answer one of my questions."

"What's that?"

"Advocacy and Protection," Lance said. "Now I know that you protect answering machines for the sake of North Dakota."

JC laughed, and Lance felt ridiculously pleased with himself.

"No," JC said. "You've got my motivations all wrong. I protect answering machines for their own sake."

"Hence the 'advocacy.'"

"Yes... Wow, I'm... Please, come and sit in my office. The chairs are a little better in there, and I've got to get you to fill out the rest of the paperwork before you change your mind."

"What?"

"You got my joke. Do you know--? Do you think I'm going to let you get away now?"

It couldn't really be that simple. But Lance sat down and filled out some forms--a W-4, a release for a criminal background check, a confidentiality agreement, and a couple other things--while JC gave a brief rundown of the Advocacy and Protection Program. His real passion was for empowering and supporting self-advocacy groups, but the bulk of his time was spent as a state-appointed advocate for clients with developmental disabilities or mental health issues.

"So you're a lawyer?" Lance asked. He seemed really young for a lawyer.

"No. I... I hate the term, but most people would call me a social worker."

"Ah." Lance signed the last form, and then watched JC slip it into the nifty machine he had. It was sort of like a microfiche reader and sort of like an overhead projector. It projected a magnified image of the form onto a large monitor that JC read from a distance of about two inches away.

So... he was really near-sighted in some non-correctable way? What did he see when he looked at Lance? No. He didn't need to know that. That shouldn't matter.

"So..." Lance said. "You can't really hire me just because I understood a joke."

"Can't I?"

"Well, I suppose you could, if you were the one signing my pay checks, but--"

"Okay. So here's the thing. A friend of mine--a really good friend of mine--has been one of your aunt's students for years now. We've never been formally introduced, but I know she's good people. I'm not taking things on blind faith here. She wouldn't have recommended you if you weren't good people, too. And besides, I'm not hiring you yet--"

Oh. But all the paperwork... and the lively discussion... and the lovely view...

"--there's one more test. Are you ready?"

"What's that?"

JC stood up and waited expectantly until Lance did the same.

"Come on, Lance Bass, take me for a ride."

Oh my God. Who was this guy? Corny and sexy. Earnest and ridiculous. Did he make everyone's head spin? Or just his?

"Yeah, yeah," Lance said drily. "That's what they all say."

JC grabbed a purple and black messenger bag that had been hanging on a hook by the door, and Lance led the way down to the baby blue mom mobile.

"Nice," JC said, buckling himself in. "Does this have a CD player?"

"Oh, no, no, no. This is not the latest and greatest model. We have a tape player and AM/FM, and we're happy to have it. And, I've been warned about you."

"Me? I'm harmless."

"Mmm, yes. I'm sure."

"It's okay. I have an adapter for my Discman. None of the state cars have CD players either."

"Driver picks the music," Lance said.

JC twisted in the seat. "Maybe we'll get lucky and the driver will like my music."

"Maybe," Lance said. "Maybe. Where are we going?"

As luck would have it, JC wanted to go to one of the two places that Lance knew in town: the Department of Transportation. This time, Lance was given a quick introduction to the large squat building that served as garage and body shop for a fraction of the state's fleet of cars, trucks, and all sorts of utility vehicles (the kind that were actually useful and helped people do things, not the sporty kind). He was shown how to sign out a car, which could only be done when JC had reserved one ahead of time, and how to use the key card to operate the gas pumps which could be found at every NDOT location.

"You know," Lance said as they drove back into town. "I'm feeling very hired."

"I know," JC said. "We should celebrate."

"How so?"

"Let's go to Dairy Queen."

"Dairy Queen... because we're both twelve years old?"

"Don't knock the DQ, man. It's the only drive-thru in town. And it's practically across the street from my house, so it's like Celebration HQ. Come on. I'll buy you a Blizzard."

Like Lance was going to say no to that.

JC insisted that they go through the drive-thru, because it was something that he couldn't do when he was on his own. They ordered a Reese's Pieces Blizzard (for Lance) and an Oreo one. When the girl reached out to hand them to Lance, though, she did the weirdest thing. She turned the Blizzard upside down--it had a spoon stuck in it already and no lid. Lance just sat stunned for a second, and she righted the cup, handed it to him, took the next Blizzard and did it again.

"Uh... Thank you," Lance told her, and she smiled like nothing was the least bit out of the ordinary.

"You're welcome! Come again!"

Lance pressed the button to roll up his window and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.

"I'm the yellow house," JC said. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah, yeah. Um. Did you see that?"

"What?"

"She upended our Blizzards!"

"Oh, yeah. Isn't that wild? This is the only DQ I've been to where they do that, and they do it here every time."

"I thought she was dumping it in my lap."

"I think it's--you can just park on the street here--I think it's to prove that it's a proper Blizzard. They're supposed to be so thick that they don't fall out."

"But what if she hadn't done it right?"

"They always do it right."

Lance parked the car and then dug in for a spoonful of the frozen treat. Mmm.

"I don't know," he said after finishing the first bite. "I find it hard to believe that they've never ended up dumping a shake in someone's lap."

"They're trained professionals."

Lance snorted.

"It's true," JC said. "Not just anybody can do it. My house--" He tapped the car window to indicate the large yellow house. "That's where my grandparents lived."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We used to visit every summer. I grew up in Maryland, actually. Well... Maryland for the most part. This Dairy Queen was here even then. And they did the cup flip back then, too. I used to think it was so cool... I was, I know this will come as a complete shock to you, but... I was a huge dork back then."

Lance chuckled. "No! Really?"

"Unbelievable, I know. But true nonetheless. So like, this one summer, it was just me and my little brother and sister. I must have been ten. And my grandparents let me take them across the street all by myself which was like huge. This was before my eyes and everything, so it wasn't like I couldn't watch out for them. But it was still more responsibility than I was given at home.

"So the guy flips my Blizzard over and I think it's the coolest thing, and we hang out there for a little bit and then we go home. And I take my half-eaten Blizzard, and I'm all 'Hi, Grandma! Hi, Grandpa!' And I flip my cup over and splat. Half-melted ice cream all over the living room carpet."

JC laughed and shook his head at the memory. "Oh my God, my Grandpa's face. My Grandpa's face... It shouldn't be funny. But, God. He just looked at my Grandma and I just know he was thinking, 'Martha, there's something not quite right about that boy.'"

JC laughed again. "I'm sorry. It's really not that funny of a story..."

"No, I liked it," Lance said.

"I loved him. He was a really good grandpa. But, oh my God, did I mystify him."

Lance watched several emotions play across JC's handsome face. He wasn't entirely sure of what he was seeing, but... he thought there was a piece of the story still missing.

"What's the last part?" he asked.

"What?"

"What did he do that mystified you?"

"What...? How do you know that?"

"I don't know." Lance shrugged. "Intuition?"

JC stared at him. Well, actually, it looked like JC was staring at his forehead, but over the course of the hour, Lance had picked up on a few things, one of which was that JC couldn't see him when he looked straight at him. But now he had caught JC's full attention, and being under his scrutiny made Lance's heart skip a beat.

Lance's heart went _Tha-Thump._

And Lance's brain said, _Oh dear!_

And Lance's body would have said, _Woot! Heart's on our side!_ , but no one was paying attention to it.

"He left me the house," JC finally said.

"Is that so strange? You're his grandson."

"I'm adopted."

Ah.

"But it's obvious why he chose to give it to you, JC."

"Is it?"

"Of course. 'You break it, you've bought it.'"

"What?"

"You dumped a milkshake on the carpet. Who else would have wanted it after that?"

JC smiled. "Oh, I do like you, Mr. Bass."

There were many ways that Lance could have responded to that, but he stuck to the safest. "So, I'm hired?"

"As long as your background check doesn't come back with 'serial killer, wanted in fifteen states.'"

"What if I'm only wanted in one?"

JC leaned towards him. "I'd find that really hard to--"

Somebody rapped on passenger door window, and they both startled back into their seats.

"Uh, oh. The natives are getting restless," JC said. "I'd better go. I'll call you, okay?"

JC got out of the car and Lance leaned across the empty passenger seat to get a look at the window rapper. He was tall and scowling, and maybe in his late teens, though the scowl made it hard to judge. He took JC's bag and then his arm, and hustled him into the house.

Huh. Brother? Boyfriend? Or... hey, the guy had a mop of curly blond hair like a sheepdog. Maybe JC needed one of those _Beware: Guard Dog_ signs.

"Interesting day," Lance said to himself as he pulled out from the curb. And a very interesting man.

~*~

You can't teach a rooster subtlety and stealth overnight, so the next time Fate needed Cupid, he sent himself as his own messenger. His own fate had always been closed to him. He was pretty sure that had something to do with physics and how the Observer could not simultaneously be the Observed, but what all the fancy theory amounted to was: he could still be surprised when he appeared at his destination standing hip-deep in a lake.

Cupid laughed at him from the nearby shore and then tossed a bread crust at one of the ducks paddling, undisturbed, by Fate's side.

"Hey, Cupe, I've been looking for you."

"Found me, you have, I would say."

"Uh... yeah... Um, no offense, but we are not on Dagobah and you're not really the Yoda type."

"Really? But you're doing such a good impression of Luke in the swamp. And I'm small and wise, and you've come to me seeking answers to your questions."

Fate couldn't argue with that, so he simply waded out of the water and sat down to enjoy the view. "Nice. Where are we?"

"Lake Sakakawea."

"Oh, really nice. I haven't been out here since before they started damming it. I like what they've done with the place."

"You seemed so enamored of North Dakota, I thought I might stay around a while. Take in the sights, do some work, get in a little target practice. That sort of thing."

"Are you making the ducks fall in love with each other?"

"No. I'm making the ducks nice and fat and delicious by feeding them bread. And watch this."

Cupid scooped up a handful of bread chunks and tossed them out over the water. As one, five pieces of bread landed squarely on the backs of five ducks. The ducks all lunged for a piece on one of their neighbors' backs.

"Synchronized duck baiting. Nice."

"Takes talent."

"Yeah, I can tell. So... I was thinking. Maybe you should focus on your spell work for a while instead of target practice."

"Nah, that's all good. Everything's under control in the magic department. Oh, hey, do you think I can hit that pelican? I bet I can. Beak like that's a huge target."

"It's not all under control. You told me it was a slow-burning romance, Cupe. An hour in JC's company and Lance was totally smitten. That is not slow-burning."

Cupid disappeared the rest of his bread, and turned on him with a scowl.

"Okay. First of all, I'm the expert. Don't come to me if you don't trust my expertise."

"It's not that, I--"

"Uh, uh. It's my turn to talk now. Second, you can't start a fire from nothing. There had to be a nice big spark to start things burning. And, last but not least, I never promised you a slow-burning romance."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I agreed to let Lance ease into the big, gay, sequined affair. Have you seen a sequin yet?"

"No..."

"Then it's all moving according to plan and you shouldn't worry so much. You'll get wrinkles again. They're cute on my dogs. They're not so cute on you."

"But--"

"Oops, sorry, gotta go. There's a shotgun wedding I have to arrange."

Cupid sparkled away, and several ducks looked expectantly at Fate.

"Uh, hello." He waved at them. "No bread here. But... um... Hi. Have any of you fellows ever considered a career in the exciting field of communications? I think I might need to send an apology."

~*~

Aunt Etty was stirring something in a big pot on the stove when Lance returned. Mmm. Something chickeny. It smelled good.

"That was longer than I expected! How did it go, dear?"

"It went well, I think." _Except for how I don't think I'm supposed to feel like I just got back from a really amazing first date._ "I was my charming self, just like you said, so... We'll see. He'll call--" _And I'll try my best not to feel like a girl waiting anxiously for the phone to ring._

"Oh, wonderful. Who could resist you?"

"I don't know, ma'am. I'm sure there's someone."

She raised her wooden spoon out of the pot and shook it mock-threateningly at him. "Don't you go selling yourself short!"

"No, ma'am. I won't."

"Now get on with you. Hook up that phone line for your computer or whatever it is that you have to do. And maybe after dinner, you can go down into the basement and look at some stuff for me. It could be a project for you."

It was a full, finished basement. And the project was three rooms stacked full of boxes and stuff. Etty's job, all her life, was to play the piano and care for her husband and their family. When they were gone, she had picked up a hobby: going to estate sales and buying things that she thought could be donated to the school or to the church. Everything that hadn't been wanted over the years had found its way into the basement. There were decades of stuff. Some of it was certainly rubbish, but half an hour of poking through the first few boxes in the smallest room, had Lance heading back upstairs to try to explain eBay to Aunt Etty.

In the end, the whole project was given to Lance to do whatever he thought was best with it. He decided that he could spend Friday and Saturday getting a better idea of the scope of task before him. Then he could make sure that Etty had an additional source of income for the next several months, if not longer. It would be much better than sitting by the phone.

~*~

JC called late on Monday afternoon to congratulate Lance on his nice, clean criminal record.

"Well, thank you kindly, sir. What can I say? Either I'm an angel or I'm just that good at what I do."

"I don't care which, man. I'm just glad you're on my side."

"You bribed me with ice cream. Of course, I'm on your side."

"Ah, is that what did it? That's good to know. Maybe I better write that down."

"Mmm, yes. But I'm thinking maybe I should walk down and get some more tonight. Celebrate my last day of unemployment."

"You know, I live by the Dairy Queen..."

"Yes. I do still remember that."

"If you wait twenty minutes, we could walk together."

"What--? No... wait." It only took half a second for Lance to plot the three points together on a line: courthouse, Aunt Etty's house, JC's house. Oh good Lord. "You walk by my house every day on your way to work."

"Nope!"

"No?" Then where did he cross over to Broadway?

"Nope! I walk by your house _twice_ a day."

"You do realize that this means one of us is a stalker?"

"But I'm harmless!"

"Well... as you are a gentleman, I suppose there would be no harm in allowing you to join me in my perambulations this evening."

"Wow," JC said, and then he laughed, but it had a rougher sound than the ones Lance had been treated to before. "Have I told you yet that I really love your accent?"

Wow. Was it hot in here? Good thing he'd be having ice cream in a few.

"Yes. Yes, I think you have."

"Great. That's good. I'll... I'll see you in twenty."

Okay, Lance told himself. Enjoy it today because tomorrow it will stop. There will be no flirting with the boss. Even if he's the only person in town that you know, besides your great aunt and the middle-aged crowd of strangers at church yesterday.

Back home, their church had had both a youth group and a Christian singles group. Christian singles, as it turned out, really hadn't been his scene. But it had been better than nothing. Here, well... the church Aunt Etty played piano for hadn't had a soul in attendance between the ages of fourteen and thirty four. Not a soul, except for Lance.

In these circumstances, surely it was permissible for Lance to be a little closer to his boss than one might otherwise be. Right?

~*~

The next time Fate went looking, he found Cupid perched on top of the Geographical Center of North America monument in Rugby, North Dakota. It was a small monument, no more than three times Fate's height, but Cupid had his wings fully manifested as if he didn't quite trust the stone-and-mortar pillar to stay put.

(His fear wasn't completely unfounded. There was a group of purists who insisted that the monument should be moved six miles over to the true geographical center. Fate could have explained to them that the current location would be precisely the right place six thousand years from now, and their relocation efforts really weren't worth it in the long run. However... the chance of the monument moving right this moment was infinitesimal.)

"Hey, Cupe."

"Hush, man. I'm busy. Target at three o'clock. Bored tourist, can't blame her."

Fate glanced over and saw a dark-haired woman picking at her nail polish while an older couple, obviously her parents, walked around the monument taking pictures. It took maybe fifteen seconds to circumnavigate the thing, so really, Fate couldn't blame her either. How many shots of it did her parents need?

"Okay, okay... wait for it... Aha! There's her other half!" Cupid shot an arrow, and a passing car screeched to a halt in the middle of Route 2. "Yes! He shoots, he scores!"

Cupid pumped his fist, then jumped down from the monument and said to the woman, "Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetheart, 'cause he'll never pay the alimony on time."

Fate sighed. Cupid was right, but he didn't need to be so happy about it.

Cupid tucked his wings away and then sauntered over to Fate. "Oops!" he said, in sudden mocking dismay. "He also has a problem with premature ejaculation. How did I forget to mention that?"

"That's not very nice."

"Eh. Live and learn, and then buy a vibrator. That's what I always say. So what can I do for you, Fate, since you've decided to brighten my life with your presence once again?"

"I'm concerned about JC."

"JC, JC... Oh. My favorite little sequin-in-the-making. That JC. Are you really? Are you really concerned for him or are you just concerned about how his thread twines with Lance's?"

"Of course I'm concerned about him. For him. I'm everyone's Fate, you know. But I don't have as good of a read on him as I do with Lance."

"Hmm. Like his thread is really tangled up with someone else's? So it's hard to see just who you're looking at?"

"You know something. What do you know?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just a little project I've been working on for Zeus, nothing that will fuck with your Romeos. So what, specifically, has your panties in a bunch?"

"Boxers," Fate corrected.

"Whatever. Get to the point. I've got a bachelorette party to crash in half an hour."

"Do you think there's a sexual harassment suit in JC's future? His near future?"

Cupid snorted. "That? That's what you had to ask?"

"Have we set them up for an inappropriate relationship?"

"This is why you should leave this stuff to the experts, Fate. Your job is to observe from a distance. My job is to interfere. As for the rest of it, they're not really boss and employee. They are both employed by the same employer, so you could say that they're coworkers. And Lance's position has no career ladder. That's it already, he can't get no higher by fucking JC. And let's be honest, Lance wouldn't want the job if he didn't think JC was immanently fuckable. If they keep it professional while they're on the clock, nobody's going to care what else they're doing... unless it's banging in a state vehicle, which you know, could be pretty interesting. That JC kid is bendy. So just have a little faith in your boys, and do yourself a favor, okay?"

"What's that?" Fate asked.

"Stop watching them so closely. It's been less than a week. A watched pot never boils, too many cooks spoil the soup, _etcetera_. Take a vacation. Get a hobby. I hear that spinning and weaving are very relaxing..."

"Oh, very funny."

"I'm serious. Find something else to do... Hey! You wanna go to the bachelorette thing with me? You could manifest. The bride's dying to cheat 'one last time' which like, yeah right, you ain't fooling anyone, sister. But she's pretty hot. You'd like her."

"I don't know... it's a little--"

"Oh, come on! If you're going to branch out into directly interfering with mortals' lives, it's the best fucking way to interfere. Just ask Zeus!"

"Maybe just this once..."

"Yeah right, you ain't fooling anyone, sister."

~*~

The first two weeks of Lance's stint as an official state employee were a big letdown. Yes, he got to see JC, but not that often, and rarely alone.

He was needed twice that first week to pick JC up at the courthouse, drive to somewhere in town to pick a client up, and then drive them both to a third place for an appointment, before ferrying them back again. They were short meetings, too, so Lance didn't gain much more than a chapter read and a few minutes spent admiring the way JC's fine cotton dress shirts stretched over his broad shoulders. He didn't even get to drop JC off at his house again, and he absolutely refused to give into the temptation of just walking down there. Stalking: Not a good thing.

The second week was a little better. They had a few extra moments alone on Tuesday. JC observed that Lance seemed much more comfortable around people with Down Syndrome than most newbies were, and Lance shared a bit about his younger cousin. He liked talking to JC about family. JC listened and seemed interested, and it was just so different... Well. Lance had never lacked friends to talk to, what with school and all the choirs and youth group, but talking with someone so attractive who also seemed ( _Please, don't let me be barking up the wrong tree here._ ) genuinely attracted to him was totally different from chatting with someone who was simply part of his crowd.

In Lance's limited experience, guys who were interested, weren't interested in his mouth. Well, no, of course, they were interested in his _mouth_ , but not for its words. That wasn't surprising, though. One doesn't expect more from hookups. But he'd had a sort of long-term, sharing our mutual closet, secret fuck buddy/study partner at the community college, and talking to him had been nothing like this either.

Before they picked up their second passenger on Thursday, he had a chance to ask, "Are we ever going to leave town? I've prepared for it. I have a map and everything. Want to see?"

This initiative was rewarded by an invitation back up to JC's office after the driving was done. (Usually, JC waited for him at the courthouse door, and Lance dropped him off in the parking lot on their return.) JC used his fancy magnifying projector machine to get a good look at Aunt Etty's map. He laughed and admired it. "Hey, it really is a good map. We'll get you a compass and you'll be all set."

"You know," Lance told him. "I've only been in North Dakota for two weeks now."

"What? Two weeks? Is that all?"

"Yep. I arrived at the train station on Wednesday afternoon two weeks ago."

"I thought you'd been here for a couple of months! Two weeks... You haven't..." JC stared off into space for a long moment, then shook his head. " _Two weeks_. What did they do? Ship you here just for me?"

Well, yes, at least as far as Aunt Etty was concerned, but Lance didn't want to get into explaining why his parents had been hounding her. While Lance was trying to think of a response, JC took one of Lance's hands between both of his, which pretty much blew every thought out of Lance's head.

"My birthday was Sunday two weeks ago. I'm thinking maybe this is a really lucky year for me."

Lance shivered and had to clear his throat. "Yeah?"

JC rubbed his thumb along the inside of Lance's wrist... and then up a little further. "Yeah. I'm thinking maybe..."

Lance had been wearing short-sleeved polo shirts to work. So it was just JC's hand and what suddenly seemed like a huge amount of naked, bare skin. Yeah. All of that, just waiting to be touched. God, that was... that was...

God, he hated to kill the mood, but he should. Office. Public building. Police station. He really should...

"Uh. Which birthday was it? A big one?"

"Twenty-three." JC's hands lingered on him.

"Wow. You're only three years older than me. You're awfully young to be the boss man, aren't you?"

JC reached up and thwaped the side of Lance's head. "I'm wise beyond my years, smart ass."

"Ah, but you're calling me smart."

"No. I'm calling you an ass." JC tugged at his wrist. "Hey, grab your map and follow me. They have a laminating machine down the hall."

"We're going to laminate it?"

"It's a good map. You'll need it next week."

"Yeah? Where are we going?"

"Ah, just to the bendy bit on Route 85. Watford City. It's not much, but it'll get you south of the river. And the landscape's different down there. Not a lot different at first, but it actually varies some. There are interesting bits."

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it."

"No, really, we're doing you a disservice keeping you cooped up here. There's not much to this side of the river. But down there, parts of it are just amazing. And then there's the Theodore Roosevelt National Parks which are just like epically amazing with a side of 'Ooo, there's a buffalo!' But those are further south. So... not next week, but soon. We've got to get you out there before the season changes. Yeah, we could... No, wait, that's enough daydreaming. We have work to do!"

"Ooo, we have laminating to do."

"And we're going to learn how to do it! Onward, men!"

Lance followed him down the hall. It was after five now and the building--at least the second floor--had cleared out already.

"Hey, 'C?"

"Yes?"

"You've never laminated before?"

"Nope. Never."

"What will the state do to us if we break their laminating machine?"

JC just laughed at that.

So, yeah, Thursday was really good, and they were stupid like school boys. Then Lance dropped JC off at his house and saw the blond sheepdog guy again. He didn't come up to the car this time, but that was probably because JC didn't linger long. Even just standing in the yard, he looked pretty imposing in a sleeveless shirt, with his arms crossed over his chest like he wanted everyone to see that 'yes, these are my biceps, they are going to smash you.' Or maybe guys in Williston just didn't have much entertainment beyond working on their upper body strength.

Lance seriously needed to ask about that guy... and maybe get a set of free weights, too.

~*~

Lance was really looking forward to the trip to Watford City (population: 1435), though not for the dubious pleasure of seeing the landscape "vary some." He'd Map-Quested it that night and it was just over an hour away. That seemed like the perfect amount of time to spend alone with JC at this point. Enough to really start getting to know him, and then a break while JC did whatever it was that he did at his meetings. The break right then would be a good breather--it would keep Lance from getting too carried away or from coming on too strong. And then another hour for the return, which was just enough time to keep things clicking right along. Start of beautiful friendship, right there.

Lance's body said, _Oh, is that what we're calling it these days?_

Lance did his best to ignore it. He wasn't an animal. He was perfectly capable of keeping things professional between them, if he really had to.

So he was disappointed, a little, when JC called on Friday to fill him in on the details. They wouldn't be going until the first, and that was Wednesday. He had to wait until Wednesday to see him again? How was that fair? Why did he have to wait?

(Yes, he was aware that his inner teenage girl was starting to express herself way too much. He wasn't sure how to reel her back in, though, and that left him feeling a little cheated. In those "My Gay Best Friend" stories, the gay boys were always the only one who like totally got where the teenage heroine was coming from. Where was his extra dose of estrogen-compatible understanding?)

And, by the way, Ms. Inner Teen? The reason why Lance had to wait? It was because stalking was still not a good thing.

"We need to be there at nine, so... uh, hey. I've already reserved the car, but do you want to pick me up before you go to the DOT? Walk you through your first time?"

"Pick you up at the office?"

"No, at my place. It would have to be like 7:15 to give you enough time to pick up the car."

JC's house was on the way there... but it was also directly on the main way to get to Route 85...

"What would Marge have done?"

"You're not Marge, you don't have to go by what--Can't we just be ourselves?"

"Yeah, but I want to start things on the right note. So I'll be nice and let you catch a few more Z's. How's that?"

"Mmm," JC said. "It's like you know me already. Papi needs his beauty sleep."

"Did you just call yourself 'Papi' or is there something I need to know about?"

"Um... Yes. 'Papi' would be me."

Lance couldn't keep from chuckling just a little. "You're a strange, strange man, Mr. Chasez."

"True enough. But I did fully disclose that fact during our first--uh. During your interview. So you're stuck with me now."

"Well, then... I shall endeavor to persevere."

JC practically purred down the phone line. "Have I told you that I love your voice?"

"Hmm... Yes." And Lance, who'd sung bass in an award-winning choir, had never been as pleased with his voice as he was now. "Yes, I believe you have. Multiple times."

"Ah. Sorry."

"It's okay."

_Believe me, it's really okay._

~*~

"Watford City?" Aunt Etty asked. "So the job's going well then?"

"Yes, it is."

"I thought that it would. That Mr. Chasez's a good man. And you know what they say, a good man is hard to find."

Was Aunt Etty--? She couldn't possibly be hinting... No. His family didn't know that he was gay, so there was no way... He was just reading into things because his thoughts had been running in that direction already.

"Is that why--pardon me if this is too personal, ma'am. Is that why you never remarried?"

"Oh, no. Not at all. Earl was a good man, mind you. A very good man, but he was also a sad one. He never quite got over his first wife dying so young. And I loved him--and I love his children like they are my own--but when he was gone, I just knew that I wasn't going to be like that. I'm not a sad person. So I promised myself that I'd do whatever kept me happy. And the thought of remarriage just never came up. What is it you say now? 'I've been there and done that already'?"

"'Been there, done that.' You've got it. You're a good lady, Aunt Etty." Lance kissed her cheek. "I'm glad you're happy."

"Oh, get on with you! Kissing old ladies!" Etty laughed. "Why I remember your grandmother in nappies!"

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't do that. You'll have to bear with me. I'm a wild one and I'll kiss whoever I like."

"That's the spirit! Follow your bliss! But get out of my kitchen, I'm sure you have something better to do."

Actually, he did. He'd seen something in the local paper about some planes, currently housed at Sloulin Field (Williston's small international airport), being decommissioned from the University of North Dakota's fleet. He wanted to find out more about that. He'd never heard of normal schools having fleets of aircraft, so he was curious. He'd look online a little and see what that was about.

~*~

So Lance had an agenda for the Watford City trip, except he didn't want to think of it as an agenda. That sounded too calculated. This wasn't like that. He didn't have a planned outcome for the day. He just wanted to... expand his knowledge base. To that end, he had two talking points, and an action item which Etty had added to the list.

Point One: Ask about JC's taste in music. It would be a good ice breaker, and Lance was genuinely curious. What could have made Marge so adamant on the Driver Music Selection Rule? He couldn't imagine that JC would inflict anything explicit or offensive on her. He just didn't seem the type, not when Marge had also said that he was a nice young man. What else was there? Polka music? Angry German thrash metal? An endless loop of _All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth_?

Point Two: Find out who the sheepdog was. This was absolutely critical.

Lance wasn't stupid. He didn't have to ask about JC's sexual orientation because it was already obvious that, regardless of any other way that JC might swing, he definitely swung in Lance's direction. So, if the sheepdog was his brother, fine. Lance could work with/around overprotective siblings.

If the sheepdog was his partner, well... then that was fine, too. Then Lance knew to steer clear of them both. Because the sheepdog might bite him for coming sniffing around, but JC would burn him. Well, maybe he was singed a bit already, if JC was the sort of guy who saw nothing wrong with flirting that much behind a partner's back. He'd recover, but he would definitely hurt for a while first.

He didn't think it would play like that, though. His heart and his gut said JC was a genuine and honest man. And JC had been adopted, so the fact that the sheepdog looked nothing like him didn't mean that they weren't brothers. But still, better to ask up front than to find out otherwise later.

And finally, Item One: Aunt Etty said they had to stop in Alexander to drink the water, which was weird, because everyone always said not to drink the water when you were travelling. But he'd try it, if JC did.

They headed west out of town, then turned south on 85. A minute later, they had crossed the Missouri, which was brown and unimpressive (again, no surprise) but the shape of the land made it obvious that the river was much, much wider during the spring floods.

JC touched Lance's shoulder. "Keep your eyes open for a sign for the American Legion Park. Should be on the left. It's a square, brown sign. We don't have time now, but this afternoon, I want to show it to you."

"Is it epically amazing?"

"Um... yes and no. The park itself is lame as hell, I cannot deny that. Everything beyond the park, though? Amazing enough that it's my favorite place within spitting distance of town."

"Oh, that sounds... I don't even know the word to describe how thoroughly underwhelmed I am at this moment. And I've got to say 'spitting' and 'favorite'? Those are two words I don't often hear in the same sentence. That could be a little disturbing."

"Really? Huh... You know I write sometimes? Like songs and stuff, for fun."

"You're a lyricist?"

"Just for fun. So when I hear something like what you just said, it's like a challenge, right? It makes me want to see if I could make it--if I could surprise you with it, turn it around and make it appealing."

"Okay... I like word games. Go for it."

JC drummed his fingers on the arm rest between their seats. "'You're my favorite person to swap spit with.'"

Whoa! Change of plan. Talking Point Two is now Talking Point Right the Fuck Now.

"JC, that blond guy at your house. Who is he?"

"Blond guy... There isn't... Oh. That's Justin."

"Is he your brother? You said you had a little brother?"

"Justin? No, he's a friend. My brother and sister live with my parents in Chicago. They're several years younger than me, still in high school actually. Justin's in high school, too. Though he's nineteen, but... No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. That's not my story to tell."

"Does he live with you?"

"Okay. No. I see where this is going and no. He is not my boyfriend or any variation on that theme. He does not live with me, but he does have a key and he's free to use it. It's _mi casa es su casa_ , except I'd never actually tell him that because he'd probably just move in with me and bring his whole family, too. He doesn't like doing things in half measures, so he'd totally make a grand gesture like that just to say 'Yeah, man, you're like a brother to me, too.'"

JC took a deep breath and then continued, saying, "And, just so you know, I wouldn't be like throwing myself at you, if I wasn't... uh... free to be caught."

"I'm sorry," Lance said. "I didn't really think you--"

"Don't apologize. In my line of work, I'm all about clear communication of needs and wishes and goals. That's like the bedrock foundation of any positive relationship, personal or otherwise. So I'm glad we can be open about this. And so, following my own advice, I'm just going to say this--"

JC shifted in his seat, and pressed his hand to his chest for a second, before laughing ruefully.

"Wow, you should feel my heart, it's like doing a conga in there. This is harder than I imagined. But I should tell you this. I like you. You're nice, you're fun, you seem way too intelligent to be content with doing this job for long, not that I'm complaining, because Williston's a big enough place that maybe I wouldn't have met you otherwise. I would have just been that guy who walks by your house every day and doesn't know what he's missing. You're also a total smart ass, and you intrigue me. I want to know you. You make me really want to know you, and yeah, you could probably make me come with just your voice alone. So yeah, I'm--Why are you stopping?"

Lance pulled the car off to the side of the road. In the movies, this would be the scene where Lance growled and kissed him and the kiss would continue until they hit the nearest flat surface--bed, desk, wall... any would do--and then things would really heat up. But this wasn't the movies, and all they had was a moment, in a state vehicle on the side of the highway when who knows when the next car would pass by.

"Kiss me," Lance said.

JC leaned forward like he just couldn't stop himself, but Lance could already see the words of denial forming on his lips.

"We can't. Not here, not now."

"Not a big clinch. Just... a promise of things to come. Please?"

When JC shook his head and started to back away, Lance leaned towards him instead. He didn't dare touch JC, he'd do something stupid if he did. So his left hand never left the steering wheel and his right never left the neutral territory of the arm rest between them.

He leaned even closer, and JC's breath hitched and he froze, not backing any further away. And Lance pressed his lips to JC's in an almost, _almost_ entirely chaste kiss. Just for a second, just to capture that first impression and turn it into a lasting memory of _oh, yes, warm, soft, a little rough right there_ and just the smallest taste, lips opening just enough to press the tip of his tongue to JC's bottom lip, to leave him wanting more of Lance's heat on his mouth, _in his mouth, yes..._

One second, and then he broke the contact, turned properly in his seat and wrapped both hands tightly around the steering wheel. He took a shuddering deep breath, and another, and then slipped the car into drive.

JC kept silent, too. But after a few minutes, their silence slipped into something less tense and more thoughtful. Lost in similar thoughts, Lance hoped. Thoughts like ‘shit, we shouldn't have done that, but I want more as soon as humanly possible.'

"Well," JC finally said. "With the way you steal kisses, Mr. Bass, I'm truly in awe of that spotless criminal record of yours."

Lance laughed, both delighted and relieved. "So you're saying I'm awe-inspiring?"

"Hmm... yes, I guess I am saying that." JC reached out and tapped Lance's arm about an inch from his wrist. "Is having this hand on the wheel absolutely vital to our safety and the safety of the vehicle?"

"On a clear day like this? Nah. Probably not. Just don't tell my boss, okay? He's a real stickler for professional behav--Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Was that Alexander back there?"

JC looked out the window. "Ah... I wasn't really paying attention. It's hard to... Hmm. I think it probably was? But that's one reason why you shouldn't distract your navigator. Especially when there are so few significant landmarks."

"Yes, about that. I'd like to remind you that I was promised scenery. Varying scenery."

"Oh! Hey, look! There's a butte!" JC pointed. "That's a variation, right there. Actually, that might be Ragged Butte... which means yeah, we've passed Alexander, world famous in parts of North Dakota and Montana for the Ragged Butte Spring."

"The Ragged Butte Spring. Let me guess..."

"Yes, I called it the 'Ragged Butt Spring' throughout my youth."

"Of course, you did. And my aunt said we had to stop and drink the water there because...?"

"It's a natural spring, welling out of some rocks, and it's famous--"

"In parts of North Dakota and Montana."

"Exactly. And then you can tell your friends, 'Did I ever tell you about the first time I drank from the Ragged Butt Spring?' Great pick up line, at the right sort of clubs."

"Well, I'm sorry I missed it, then."

"We'll be back." JC gently pulled Lance's hand free from the steering wheel. "You were supposed to be giving me this. Remember?"

Holding hands made him feel like he was fourteen or something. Or like, how everyone would have expected little James Lance to be, holding hands with his first girl. He felt a little silly. But it was also just really... nice. Holding hand with--not his first boy--but with the first man who'd actually wanted to hold his hand. It felt... warming, not like passion, but like how he imagined some people felt growing comfortably old together.

Oh my God. He was in so over his head.

Lance's brain said, _I told you so._

And Lance's heart went _Tha-Thump._

He'd felt that once before, but he hadn't quite realized...

And Lance's brain said, _Oh sure, now you decide to listen to me. It's far too late now._

~*~

"Mmm," Cupid sighed dreamily. "I think I'm in love."

As much as Fate might wish that were true, he wasn't a fool. He knew Cupid was working his way up to some sort of punch line. But the thing about Cupid was--no actually, it was really a thing about Fate, wasn't it? Well, anyway, the thing was: Fate was Cupid's straight man and he hoped that he always would be. So Fate simply replied, "Oh, really? I thought you gave love up for Lent?"

"Since when are we Catholics?"

"Um... I don't know... Since the papacy brought all those nice sparkly things to Rome?"

"Ha! Now see, normally this is where I would argue the point with you, but love has mellowed me. So I'm just going to help myself to another of these delightful foot-long hotdogs and count the many ways I hold my love dear."

"So who is this new-found love of yours?" Fate asked.

"I have no idea, but she or he is genius. I want to make sweet, sweet love with them and have their evil genius babies."

Fate choked on a bite of his chili dog. "You what?"

"My love is whoever came up with the idea for this place." Cupid patted the roof of the gas station that they were sitting on. " _Kum & Go_. It's brilliant. My love is somebody who not only recognizes that gas stations are a cornucopia of pornographic goodness, but then decides to go the extra mile and celebrate the porny goodness where all can see and join in the merriment."

Fate peered down over the edge of the roof. "They have porn here?"

"Are you kidding me? This place is full of hoses and phallic nozzles which are always poking into small holes in the backsides of cars and spewing things. And inside, you can buy all sorts of rubber restorers and lubricants and waxes. And if that's not enough to do it for you, they have a wide variety of hot juicy wieners just waiting for a hungry mouth. It's a Bacchanalia, only with gasoline instead of wine! Genius!"

"Oh, hey," Fate said. "Look! It's Lance and JC!"

"Yeah, I bet they're here for a milkshake, though I could see JC as a foot-long man..."

~*~

Lance would never be able to recall much about his first visit to Watford City. It all pretty much faded to insignificance in light of the stolen kiss, their hand-holding, and that nearly overwhelming sense that yes, it was too late now. He'd lost his head and given away his heart.

Nearly overwhelming, yes, but he still couldn't quite believe it. He'd arrived only three weeks ago. That was barely anything. It couldn't possibly be too late. Not yet. If he acted now, he still had time to back away and leave with his heart intact. But that would be turning tail and running scared, and Lance Bass didn't do that.

Lose sight of his true objectives and get caught in a spin, running around chasing his own tail? Yes. Just ask his parents. He had done that but good in the last few years.

But running scared? Not so much, no.

Unless, it was running away from something so horribly terrifying that every sensible, right-thinking individual would flee from its path. Something like JC's offer of a milkshake from Watford City's only gas station and minimart, the truly disturbingly-named Kum & Go.

Ugh. It wasn't just the _Kum_ that did it. It was the whole visual impact of the logo, the long white strand of the _K_ just oozing over and melding itself with the _G_. It was just way the hell too much like a smear of semen to be coincidental and how did they get away with having an entire chain of Kum  & Go's?

(Well, obviously, someone somewhere must have pointed out that no one wants to Kum & Go only once. But they shouldn't have. They really shouldn't have.)

"Are you sure you don't want a milkshake? I feel like my treating you to some sort of ice-cream concoction in a cup is already one of our traditions, you know? And they're pretty good here. Thick, rich and creamy... Mmm, mmm."

"No," Lance said. "Not unless you want me to be sick, and if I get sick, I foresee a dire lack of kissing in your future."

"Ah, baby, don't be that way. How about a hot dog instead?"

"Now you're just making it worse. Can we just get out of here?"

"But I hate to Kum-and-Go in a hurry."

Lance groaned. "That's it. I'm leaving now, with or without you."

JC giggled and followed him back to the car.

~*~

As it turned out, switching the Talking Points around that morning had been an act of sheer genius. Asking JC about his taste in music wasn't so much like breaking ice as it was like sailing your ocean liner right up to the iceberg and begging it to throw itself at your ship. There was ice, there was breakage, and then there was a great gushing flood of information. Lance could see how someone might drown in it all.

Lance was lucky, though, because he'd been just about as submerged in music in his youth as JC had. So he was in no danger of drowning in this metaphorical flood. The only danger was being swept away with JC and never wanting to come back. And the more JC shared with him, the more Lance wanted to jump right in.

The short version was that JC simply loved music. He thought every genre had merits, but what he liked best was music for dancing.

"So..." Lance said. "Like Swing music? Waltzing? Country Line-Dancing?"

JC laughed. "Oh, you think you're joking but I can do a mean Boot Scoot-Boogie. And my Hammer Dance?"

"Is world famous in parts of North Dakota?"

"You better believe it."

JC's favorites were Dance and Pop. But you could easily judge just how much JC would like any song by watching its music video. If the video was all "here is our lead singer being all broody and over-emoting while some sort of drama is going on behind him", then the music was just okay. If the video showed the band singing while other people danced, then it was a little better. If the singers couldn't dance because they were busy rocking it out on guitar and bass and drums while they sang, then that was another huge step in the right direction. But the best music was from people who sang and danced at the same time, and the best of the best was when there was a whole group doing it at once.

"And I know that people are going to be like 'JC, that was just a crapton of BS. Just admit that you're a big boyband-loving freak and be done with it.' But there is a reason behind it. Music should make you dance. Dance with joy, dance with lust, dance with... whatever it makes you feel. Like, even 'Hey, you cheated on me and now I'm throwing all your stuff out the window and I'm mad and goddammit, I'm gonna dance my feelings out.'"

And then, suddenly, JC spread his arms wide in a move that radiated angry tension and started singing in a clear, strong tenor that held just the right note of nastiness in it.

" _You started going out with so-called friends,  
But I was blind and so I lost all common sense,  
But there were things that made me realize,  
Like all the hundred no, thousand lies._ "

Lance knew it was a Backstreet song, but JC sang it like he owned it, like every word was his own. He was utterly captivating and Lance could not resist joining him in singing the chorus.

" _Don't want you back,  
'Cause you're no good for me, I know,  
That's all I've got to say,  
Don't want you back--_ "

JC stopped singing as abruptly as he'd started and poked an accusatory finger at him.

"Man, you've been holding out on me! You sing? Why didn't I know this? Huh? Why haven't you been singing for me?"

"While ferrying your clients around town?" Lance asked. "How would that have gone over?"

"They'd love it! They'd all want to know how to get their own singing driver, I'm sure. You need to sing for me. We need to sing together."

"I hardly get to see you."

"You know where I live. You could've... I mean, we still haven't really said anything, but I want us to be together. You're with me on this, right?"

"Yeah..." Lance had to clear his throat and start again. "Yeah, I am. I've been wishing every day for an excuse to see you."

"Well, stop that. You don't need an excuse. You want to see me, pick up the phone."

Lance squeezed JC's hand in his. "Thank you. But, um... Yeah. Let's go back to music because the relationship talk is really distracting your driver right now. Safety first, remember?"

What JC really liked about boybands was that the really good ones made it honestly seem like they were just a group of friends who would dance and sing together even if there was no one watching. "I know they're performers, but some of them, I'm certain that it's more than that to them. They do it because they love it and they do it together because it's so much more fun that way. That's the best."

JC's current favorite was the Backstreet Boys and he'd been listening to _Millennium_ like crazy since it came out in May.

"They're great. And it's also like, I like them because I could have been one of them. I'm the right age and at one time, I was certain that's what I would do with my life. I went to this camp every summer, MMC. Merry Melodies Camp. Sounds kinda cheesy, but it was like part training school and part normal summer camp. You had to audition and everything. That's how I met Justin, he was there the year that ended up being my last.

"I was totally going to go pro someday, but that last year, that's when the first symptoms with my eyes developed. My night vision got really bad, and after that summer, there were all the tests and then the genetics test and then it was, 'You have three, maybe four years before you're blind,' and we decided that I should stop going to MMC."

"But there are lots of blind performers," Lance said. "Stevie Wonder. Ray Charles. That opera guy... uh. Bocelli? You could--"

"Hey, I'm not--This isn't my private pity party. I'm not sitting here regretting my life, 'cause I love what I do now. I help all sorts of people and I wouldn't change that for anything. I'm just saying, if things had been different, if I could still do complicated group choreography? You would have totally seen me up there shaking my thing next to AJ McLean--Oh, hey. We're getting close to the park."

At this point, Lance wanted to say, 'To hell with the park.' He'd much rather go back to JC's place and maybe they would kiss and maybe, if he were lucky, JC would take him to bed. But JC had been looking forward to this. Even last week, he'd talked about wanting to show him the local scenic spots. And now Lance had a more-or-less open invitation to JC's house. There'd be chances for getting into JC's bed later.

So, he looked for the sign and he turned down a dirt road which led for a ways into the same boring beige landscape that had so depressed him three weeks ago. A little further down, he started to see a bit more green out there. A bit further and there was a large expanse of dandelion-spotted green grass and a playground that looked sad and abandoned, a swing set with three swings and a tall slide with flaking paint.

"I don't know, 'C..."

"Just wait for it. I told you the park itself was lame, just go till the road stops, okay? It's... well, I'll make it up to you if you don't think it's worth it in the end."

He parked in the grass where the road ended. There were more bushes here and a few straggly trees and the ground rose up just enough to hide whatever was over the rise. They got out and JC took his arm and they had to walk carefully because the ground was uneven and the grass was high and interspersed with half-hidden clumps of prickly pears and bunches of wild sage, and then he stopped suddenly, instinctively reaching out to stop JC, too.

Below their feet, the ground just dropped away. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet below them, the flood plains of the Missouri spread out like an alien landscape. The river had snaked and twined in wild curls here once upon a time and cut deep bluffs and strange shapes into the earth. It wasn't any sort of normal, pretty landscape, but it was gorgeous. It was wild. It made him want to run. It made him want to fly. It made him want to climb down into it and get lost for a while. And it was all there, hidden below the level of their feet. He could have passed right by it and never have known it was there.

"Wow," he breathed. "You've got badlands right here."

"Yeah," JC said. "Do you like them?"

"It's like it could be another world. It's incredible."

JC stood behind him and wrapped his arms around him. "If you like these, then I really want to show you the really good badlands. The ones in the National Parks. Would you like that?"

"Yeah, of course. Are we allowed to go into them? I mean... do people go on hikes and stuff? Is there camping? Or is it one of those places where you're really meant to stay in the designated areas and admire from afar?"

"You'd go camping with me?"

"Are you kidding? Of course, I would. I'd love to."

And JC kissed him. Just turned him around in a whirl and kissed him. Lance totally didn't see it coming, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He held on tightly and enjoyed it.

Somehow, they ended up sprawled in the grass, and there was a bit of cactus or something scratching at Lance's calf and he really didn't care. He was pinned under JC and JC was grinning down at him.

"You'd go hiking and camping with me," JC sing-songed.

"You nut. Why wouldn't I?"

"Nobody wants to do that. They either want to protect me because they don't trust me to be capable of handling anything more treacherous than a sidewalk or they don't want to be slowed down by me."

"Huh," Lance said. "I didn't even think of that. I guess... it feels like you're just my speed? Or no, that isn't quite... Honestly? It's like whatever speed you're going, that's the one I want to catch up to."

JC's smile grew impossibly brighter.

"I'd like that. I think... I think that would be even better than throwing myself at you and hoping you'll catch me. I think having you running beside me would be like having everything I ever wanted--"

And Lance's heart went _Tha-Thump_.

Yes, Lance thought, that's where I'm going. That's what I want.

"--all wrapped up in the voice of a sex god."

"Oh," Lance said and surged up, rolling them both over until he had JC under him. "I see how it is. You talk a good line, Mr. Chasez, but in the end, you just want me for my body."

JC laughed. "No, no, haven't you been listening? I just want you for your voice. Your body is just the mmm... do that again... the cherry on top of my sex-god sundae."

"Oh, now you've done it. To defend my body's honor and reputation, I'm going to have to show you how my body can make you come without any assistance from my voice."

"Yes," JC said. "Oh, yes, please... show me the error of my ways."

And Lance kissed him, to shut him up, and then settled in for a long, leisurely exploration of all of the parts of JC that could be bared without entirely removing their clothes (there were, after all, quite a few prickly pears hiding in the grass).

 

*~*~*

 

_After:_

Fate was, by the very nature of who and what he was, the world's biggest voyeur. He was more than happy to watch the two young mortals rolling around in the grass together. He reached out with a flick of power and relocated a clump of cactus that was in imminent danger of being crushed under JC's backside, and then sighed contentedly.

"They're really in love! It's beautiful, Cupe. I'm so glad we did this, it's like my heart has grown ten times bigger and just, oh look at them! It's so romantic."

"No," Cupid said. He was standing on one of the swings. A few minutes ago, he'd been hopping up and down on the swing's seat 'for stress testing,' but now his hands were wrapped tight around the swing's chains while he grumbled to himself. "There's something wrong here. There's something way, way wrong here."

"Can't you, just for a moment, stop being such a love-hating, cranky old man? Just enjoy it! Feel the love! Their--"

"The sequins! That's it, it's the fuckin' sequins!" Cupid jumped down from the swing, stomped over to the couple, and demanded, "Where are your big gay sequins?"

"Leave 'em be. You said you were easing them into the sequins. I'm sure they'll turn up eventually."

"No. That's not the way it works! They can't truly be in love until there are sequins. It's all tied together in the spell."

"Cupe, they're totally in love. I can feel it. Their connection is so strong now, I know they're going to make it through any challenges--"

"They can't be! It doesn't work that way!"

~

At that very same moment, on the other side of the river, at a large yellow house in Williston, a curly-haired young man was locking his best friend's front door. He was almost late for his piano lesson, and he really had to--Huh. What was that?

There was something blue glinting in the potted topiary bush that stood beside the door. Was that a piece of broken glass? He'd better clean it up. What if JC found it and cut himself?

He plucked the bit of glass out of the bush and looked it over curiously. What a pretty little thing. It glowed and sparkled in the light like something much more precious than glass, and it was a lovely shade of blue. What was it? It looked sort of like a crystal arrowhead, but why would something like that be kicking around out here like it was litter? Was it JC's? Maybe he'd lost it.

"I'd better put this somewhere safe."

With the arrowhead in one hand and JC's house key in the other, he turned to go back inside. Then a car's horn sounded, startling him, and his hands tightened reflexively around what they were holding.

"Ow!"

He stared down at the trickle of blood on his hand from the sharp edge of the glass--

~

Suddenly Cupid froze in place and his face turned deathly pale.

Fate was at his side in an instant. "Cupe? What's wrong?"

"Uh oh, I gotta--"

Fate was thoroughly tired of the way that Cupid was always disappearing on him, and now--when it was obvious that something had Cupid scared--Fate just wasn't going to put up with it anymore. He and Cupid were buddies and they belonged at each other's side. So, in a total breech of Olympian etiquette, he grabbed on to Cupid just before he disappeared.

"--go!"

~

The first thing Fate saw as they sparkled into place at their new location was a tall young man whose hair was held back with a baby blue bandana. It was a nice bandana, too. It sparkled almost as much as a transporting Olympian did.

"Dammit!" Cupid shouted, leaping away from Fate and shaking with temper. "Those liars! Those lying liars! Now I'm fucking toast, just because they're trying to save a buck or two. Fuckin'--"

"What? What's going on? Cupe?"

"They said that glitter was genuine Sequin Sand! Sequin Sand, dammit, not Bedazzle Bits!"

"Bedazzle Bits?"

"That stuff on Curly's head rag. Fuck. Everything makes sense now. Bertha's magic was never for Lance! She was for that kid. Shit, I gotta--"

The bedazzled young man was simply standing there and staring with stars in his eyes at a curly-haired older woman who was climbing out of a car.

"Oh," Fate said. "I see... but she looks nice. It'll work out. It is a bit of an age difference, but a True Love arrow wouldn't--"

"Justin?" the woman said. "Baby, are you okay? You left your bag at home, so I was trying to catch you before your lesson. Baby, what's--? Are you bleeding?"

The young man blinked and seemed to come out of his daze a little. "Momma?"

"--oh," Fate said. "Oh, I see. Awkward. Definitely awkward. But it isn't like you haven't done Oedipal Complexes before. You can undo it."

"That's Big Bertha's True Love Triple Whammy Oedipal Complex, that ain't ever coming out! Dammit! Come on, Fate, we better get out of here."

"Can't we watch just a bit longer?"

"Fuck, no. That kid was my side project for Zeus! I was working on breaking his childhood crush on JC, so that Zeus could swoop in and claim him. Come on, we better--"

The sky split and crackled. Fate grabbed Cupid up in his arms and they disappeared, just as there was a giant _ZAP!_

~*~

"Wow," JC said, when they were both breathing almost normally again. "That was... mmm... electrical. I take back what I said. I was wrong. You're a sex god twice over."

"Mmm," Lance murmured, and kissed under JC's jaw because that was what was in reach and he was feeling too lazily snuggly to move. "I'm glad you approve."

"But um, just for future reference? There are rattlesnakes out here, so it's maybe not--"

Lance sat straight up. "What?"

"Oh, sorry. Maybe I should have mentioned that earlier."

"Yeah. Maybe you should have."

"But it did give our love-making that extra edge of exciting danger, so... I'm not complaining."

JC's word choice totally distracted Lance from the ‘you should really tell people when there are poisonous snakes about' issue.

"'Love-making'?" Lance asked.

"Mmm, yeah. Wasn't it for you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was. Actually, it's sort of funny, my parents send me here to find myself and I found you instead."

"Aww, that's so... No. Wait, what? You were sent here?"

"Yeah, um. It's kind of a long story but the short version is that I got distracted with all my extracurricular activities junior and senior year in high school, and my grades weren't quite good enough to get me into my first choice school. And I guess, I got so bummed out by that that I gave up for a while? I was going to community college and not really looking for how to get back on track. So, I think my parents thought that forcing me out of my rut, would help me. And I hated it, but they were right. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Oh, I see," JC said. "That's really great, you getting back on track. You really are amazing, so yeah... I would hate to see you wasting your time in a rut... Um. Yeah. So... when are you going back home?"

"Thanksgiving, I think."

JC's hand tightened bruisingly on Lance's hip before he suddenly let go and started to stand up. Lance grabbed his hand and stopped him.

"No, JC. No. That's not... I'll be going back for a visit. It will always be my hometown, even if my home's somewhere else. And while I don't know for sure where I'll be this time next year, I've already been looking into the School of Aerospace Sciences at UND. It's really impressive. And, JC?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know where I'll be, but I do know who I want to be with."

"Oh," JC said, and he let Lance pull him back into his arms.

"And just to clear up any possible confusion, that person isn't my Aunt Etty, okay? It's gotta be you."

JC laughed.

"That's a Backstreet song, you know."

"Yes. And if you shut up and kiss me now, I promise to sing it with you later."

And that's just what they did.

 

_The End_

 

 _That's great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and  
snakes, an aeroplane and Lenny Bruce is not afraid._  
~"It's the End of The World" - R.E.M.


End file.
